


The System

by Dee_Laundry



Category: House M.D. RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-09
Updated: 2008-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contractual issues can be such a bother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The System

**Author's Note:**

> This is **Alternate Universe** Real Person Fic. UTTERLY FALSE AND NEVER HAPPENED. HL-RSL friendship, HL-Stephen Fry friendship, implied RSL-David Morse UST. Also, rude rumors about Charlie Sheen. Takes place during the filming of the earliest episodes of Season Three.

To tell the truth, something Hugh has a least a passing familiarity with, he picked Robert as his Yeoman because he'd thought the man would protest. Being as new to American television production as Hugh was, Robert would no doubt find the Yeoman system as flabbergasting and appalling as he did, and together they could strike a blow for decency and common sense.

"Oh," Robert had said instead. "How flattering. And now I can probably use this as leverage to cut my scene count without a reduction in pay. You know, because of the time I'll be spending on you. Excellent."

 _Bollocks_ , Hugh had thought, and gestured frantically as Robert's hands moved toward his belt. "Not now. Go back to your own trailer."

Robert had shrugged and stolen an apple from Hugh's fruit basket on his way out.

It's not that Hugh doesn't like Robert; he _does_. In fact, that's part of the problem. The Yeoman is supposed to be a perk for the Star, not a friend. The Yeoman is supposed to service the Star, not sit around the Star's trailer, mooching food and yakking his head off about every little thing under the sun. Tarantulas and whaling and 1970s television and 1940s theater – Robert knows a wee bit about a whole lot, and it ought to be boring, but it somehow isn't.

Robert's offered to fulfill the Yeoman's duties; he offers at least once a week, with about as much enthusiasm as he does anything around the set. Hugh can't take him up on it, though, _won't_ take him up on it, because Hugh is _married_ and that _means_ something in Dear Old Blighty even if it doesn't in this land of too much sun and too little light.

"That was almost poetic," Stephen says, crackling along the line (invisible, due to being on the mobile). "As it always is when you're rationalizing."

"Oh, do be quiet," Hugh groans. "Continually having to turn him down is wearing on me."

"He doesn't believe the marital fidelity line either? Change it up if you don't want to have sex with him. The Australian's pretty. Or Lisa; she's in the press practically every other day taking about the sexual chemistry between you two."

Hugh shifts on the uncomfortable metal steps of his trailer, and drags his free hand down his face. "Because turning _her_ down continually would be ever so much easier. And in any case, I made a huge fuss with the cast and crew early on about how I'd be keeping the same Yeoman throughout the run of the show."

"If it's causing you this much distress, why haven't you had the clause stricken from your contract?" Stephen inquires, ever so practically.

"Because it's apparently _not done_. To ask for the removal brands me an ingrate and an untrustworthy maverick. Plus there's Robert to think of. If I ask for removal, it might reflect poorly on his performance as Yeoman, and I couldn't handle causing that damage to his career."

"Oh, dear. You're stuck with a handsome, talented dogsbody you care about who wants to provide you with sexual pleasure. Whatever will you do?"

"Don't _tease_ , Stephen. I'm serious. This is driving me right round the bend."

"You're saying none of your fellow Stars – I still find that moniker quite amusing, by the way – have done away with the Yeoman. Not one?"

"According to gossip Robert passed along from the Yeoman circles, Charlie Sheen's without at the moment, that being how he negotiated his latest pay rise."

"Well, there you are. Start up contract negotiations again, and tell them you'll –"

"No."

"I realize it's rather a bother, but for your own sake –"

"No, I've realized I didn't tell the story correctly. Charlie asked for a Yeoman, and the show offered him more money because they couldn't give him the Yeoman he asked for."

"What, he wanted to hire on someone new?"

Hugh groans again, disgusted by this sordid tale. "Apparently, appallingly, he asked for the half man."

"What?"

"His show is called 'Two and a Half Men,' and he asked for the 'Half Man.'"

Stephen sucks in a long breath, and replies in repugnance, "You mean the boy. He's a pedophile."

"According to Robert's grapevine – and how odd it is that Robert _has_ a grapevine, because he's really not the type, but you see, that's another Yeoman benefit I don't feel I can deprive him of, and now I've totally lost the train of thought I was on."

"Charlie Sheen is a pedophile."

"Oh, yes. I mean, no. It was a pure and simple negotiating ploy, because he knew asking for the youngster would gum up the works and get him more money. He could do it because the Yeoman's contract doesn't specify sexual favors, just duties at the discretion of the Star."

"Yet the producers refused so as not to be seen as child pimps."

"I'm not entirely sure they care about that, but they do care about shooting schedules, and there's a limited amount of time the kid can work. If he's running errands for the Star, he can't be acting on set. So the easier thing to do was give Charlie more money instead." Sighing, Hugh pulls another cigarette from his pocket and risks the displeasure of the environmental police by lighting it. "None of which gives me any clue how to handle my situation."

Stephen chuckles, as he is wont to do when Hugh's dilemmas don't directly involve him. "Sexual favors are not specified in the contract, so tell Robert to stop offering."

"You're not dense, m'colleague, and it doesn't become you to pretend to be so. It's not written down, but it's absolutely expected. _Absolutely_."

A very condescending sigh, and then Stephen says, "You do enjoy tying yourself in knots, Hugh. The contract has been in place for over two years now; you've been resisting the man's docile advances all along. Why such woe and misery now?"

He hates Stephen; really he does. Just because he rang the man to bend his ear doesn't mean he wants Stephen to have any actual insight. It's dashed inconvenient, because Hugh had been hoping to mope and whine and avoid entirely the thing that's really bothering him. Because if he can avoid the thing, he can avoid the reasons behind the thing, and the, well, 'emotions' is so strong a word, so perhaps the _feelings_ , or no, the notions – that's better – behind the reasons behind the thing. Avoid the whole lot utterly and completely. Yes.

"Robert wants me to loan him to David Morse."

Or he can just blurt it out like that. He's a class-A twit, James Hugh Calum Laurie is.

Stephen's silence is, as always, so very so. "Can you do that?" he asks approximately a thousand years later.

"It's in both our contracts, 'upon mutual agreement,' for guest stars of arcs no less than three episodes," Hugh replies. "Robert had a zeal for David's show 'St. Elsewhere' when that was on the air, and apparently he wants to show his appreciation."

"Hm, I see," Stephen says.

Hugh hates him. "You're beastly."

"And you're precious when you sulk. A bubble bath and a good night's sleep, that's my prescription. Everything will look better in the morning."

"You've been no help at all."

"Which is exactly what you wanted, Hugh, m'colleague."

"Bugger off."

Stephen's laugh is a little ray of light dancing through the center of Hugh's otherwise dreary temper. "Good night, Hugh."

"Night." Hugh flips his phone shut and flings his trailer door open wide.

"No," he says as he steps in, and the door swings slowly closed behind him.


End file.
